


B-Sides

by Vault_of_Glass



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Bondage, Smut, handjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/Vault_of_Glass
Summary: And other drabbles. Little Mac and River moments picked out from all the chaos.(or, procrastination fics from tumblr)





	1. I dreamt about you last night

**Author's Note:**

> 7\. "I dreamt about you last night."
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)

Water laps the dock outside, restless in the gaining wind that howls through shattered windows. Her Pip-Boy warbles out some pre-war tune that almost drowns it out, the high notes crackling this far from the station. They press close enough for body heat, warming slowly on the kitchen floor, their sleeping bags too thin for any comfort.

“I dreamt about you last night,” she offers in the static between songs, while Travis stumbles through the break, careless if not for the gaze she keeps steady on his face. She curves her lips up at one end, trouble in a smile - that mouth of hers could spell out his undoing and he’d drink down every ruinous word.

His smirk falters when it forms, caught off-guard by her confession. She’s seen through every last of his kneejerk defensive reactions, and he feels that dizzying sway before the fall, the precipice that yawns beneath his feet. “Must’ve been a pretty good dream.”

She casts an enamored glance at the shape of his mouth, her lip between her teeth; he remembers how soft they felt when he kissed her. “You made sure of it.”

 _I would, I would a thousand times, fuck, just say the word -_ He presses the heel of his palm to his pounding heart and chokes out something like laughter. Feels more like a plea for mercy. “Oh yeah?” The words crack in his mouth, like he’s been parched for weeks and weeks without a drop to drink.

“Mmn.” Such fondness in the sound, cool waters brimming with promise, close enough to make his throat burn. Her smile tilts and he feels fingertips along his knuckles, adoring over old scars. “Your hands first,” she continues, and a knot twists in his stomach. His fingers tense beneath her touch, twitching to fulfill whatever dream has left that longing in her eyes. “Then your mouth.” Threads of want sink rough into her voice when she sighs, the shadow of a moan, fraying at his crumbling resolve.

 _Fuck_. He clenches his eyes shut and sucks in a steadying breath. Thinks of all the many ways he wants to wet his tongue, the countless nights he’s dreamt about her thighs around his head. She lingers at the edge of every thought, when he’s fighting, when he sleeps, each second that he walks the wastes, when he grips himself and fucks into his fist and wonders in the high of his release what she would sound like when she comes.

“And I haven’t - I mean, nothing like that - not since…” Her sentence trails off toward familiar ends,  _not since before,_ he shouldn’t be surprised and yet the words still scald in him like embers.When he blinks, he sees her sprawled across white sheets, her fingers slick between her legs, biting back his name before she falls apart. “But god, with you…” She lifts her gaze again to his, and for a fleeting breath he thinks those cinder eyes might burn him to ash where he lies. “You’re all I think about.”

Ruinous words, sweet when he drinks them down with all the ardor of a starving man.  _Two hundred years untouched and River dreams about **my hands**. _ Her lips are just as soft as he remembers, clumsy restless kisses that deepen as she curls into his arms, then parting for a gasp, she moans and sighs and pleads his name in gospel syllables beneath his mouth. Too much of her to process all at once, her hips rolling into his hands and the heat of her thighs around him.

She claims the column of his throat with lips and teeth, sucks a bruise into his skin until he groans at the sting. She almost eases off, but he bucks his hips in response, traps a whine behind his teeth that sounds like  _please_. Her mouth drags slow and soothing down the mark in his neck before she nips him again, and he moans her name as he shudders, gripping tighter at her hips. She hums against his tender skin, gentle kisses and the wet lap of her tongue, loving where she’s bitten him. Little pains that throb and ebb, and he doesn’t want them to fade.

He slips his fingers past the snug fit of her jeans, pale blue and so damn  _tight_ ; he’s thought of tugging them down her thighs more times than he can count. She works the shirt up over his head and murmurs something fond into his shoulder, fitful twists of shapely hips until her bare skin fills his hands. Racing through the buttons of her flannel, licking at his lip, unwilling to part for any longer than it takes to catch her breath.

White hair still damp from the lake around his fingers, she leans eagerly into his touch, tilts her head and whimpers when he drops his lips to the base of her neck, down the pillar of soft skin where her shirt has fallen open.

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes, threading fingers through his hair, arching into him as he mouths at the dip between her breasts. Her arm curls tight around his shoulders like an anchor, like he’d ever stray. She rocks her hips against the hard press of his cock and nearly sobs at the feel of him. “RJ -”

“Fuck.” He groans into the curve of her neck, that passing pressure just enough to make his head spin. He shivers when he feels her pushing at his pants, her nails tracing easy down his hip until she frees his cock into her palm, her hands so impossibly  _soft,_ even as she firms her grip and presses teeth to the hollow beneath his jaw.

“I’ve dreamt of touching you, too,” she purrs, breathless after each word, it takes every shred of focus to make them out in the rush of heat that passes through him, tension winding deeper with the curl of her fingers around his cock.  

He buries his face against her neck, dragging empty air in through his teeth. He  _wants_ , he  _needs_  -  _fuck_ , he’s dying to feel her,  _aches_  to make her come, utterly helpless when she touches him like this. She wraps her leg around his hip, pressing messy kisses to his chest, never stopping that torturously slow pace. His fingertips twitch down the soft planes of her stomach as he nuzzles at her breasts, fastens his lips over the taut peak of a nipple and laps his tongue at her skin, encouraged by the whine that sounds in her throat.

“Can -?” he asks, his thoughts a tangled, urgent mess, his voice too wrecked to phrase them.

She grips her nails into his shoulders with a frantic nod, frenzied  _yes, yes, yes_ on swollen lips. He dips his hand under faded cotton and shudders when he finds slick heat beneath his fingers, her body flinching at the first touch of rough fingertips. A cry rises wild in her throat, muffled just too late into the back of her teeth, he could spend the next forever coaxing out more perfect noises. She guides his hand with knowing fingers, gasps a throaty  _there_  and throws her head back when he finds where she needs him. Her grip slides down to the base of his cock, fingers clumsied by his hand between her thighs.

“That’s -,” she pants, hips quivering in his hold. “Gonna - come -”

There’s a split second of disbelief that nearly shocks his fingers out of place, but he steadies his touch and she comes seconds later with a trembling wail, her nails scoring his shoulder, thighs clenching shut around his wrist as he tries to ease her through it. His cock twitches in her hand at the sound of her falling apart, he’ll never sleep another night with the sight and feel of her in his head, pink cheeks and shaking hips, so fucking  _wet_  around his fingers.

She opens her eyes slowly, heavy lids and honey irises, urging him into a kiss as she tightens her hold around his cock. He flexes into her grip, tense with need, wordless pleas catching in his throat. Her thumb plays at the head of his cock, fingers firm, determined, precision pressure far too perfect, he’ll be ash and ruin by the time she’s done with him.

“RJ,” she murmurs, then, “ _Baby_ , please,” and  _fuck_ , when she  _begs_. She wraps her lips around his thumb, and her tongue stroking the pad of his finger is all it takes to push him over, grasping hard at her hips as he comes in cords of white across her thighs. She sighs a pleased little sound into his palm, laying lazy kisses to his knuckles while he recovers, his forehead damp with sweat against her shoulder.

He watches in breathless fascination as she drags her fingers through the mess he’s left across her legs and raises them to her mouth, sucking each one clean. A shiver runs his spine, and he chokes out a delirious groan. He’s spent too long distracted from his watch already, and he barely has the energy left to speak, but he wants her again and again, still so much of her skin undiscovered, so many frozen years left to make up for.

River smiles, easiest he’s ever seen her, bare skin flushed pink beneath him as she wipes sleepily at her thighs. “First watch?” she asks him softly, planting sated kisses along his bottom lip.

“I got it,” he promises. He lingers on one last kiss before he climbs shakily to his feet, fixing his pants back into place. He leaves her sprawled across the bedroll, restful and serene like some priceless old-world painting, watching him with tired eyes.

“Be safe,” she says, and offers him a loving smile. “I’ll dream of you.”


	2. Don't worry about me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31\. "Don't worry about me."
> 
> [x](http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)

“It’s beautiful again, from all the way up here.”

River stares out over jagged cityscape, crooked buildings spearing up like broken fingers, veins of buckled city streets beneath a veil of heavy fog. The cold has bitten pink into her cheeks while the night sky bruises deeper blue between the tattered masts looming above them. Cast against that gloom, her hair looks spun from silver, otherworldly, like some bright and vibrant star who’s wandered off too far and lost the long way home.

MacCready squints his eyes and tries to appreciate the view like she does; it won’t be the first thing she’s led him to see. The fog has blotted miles of Commonwealth ruin to heavy shadows of blue and gray and black, and there’s a certain peace from here he’s never seen in the wasteland before. But River tilts her head against his shoulder, and the scarf around her neck smells like wind-dried cotton, like smoke and sun and sweet vanilla, like the sheets where she sleeps, and his body eases next to her on instinct, recognizing safe and soft, the smell that fills his lungs when things start to feel right again.

With River near, the Commonwealth will have to try a whole lot harder.

He steels himself against the wind like frozen teeth in his skin as he shrugs free of his coat and drapes it around her shoulders. “Nice to know that jaunty little sail was good for something, at least.”

Her smile returns; it’s getting easier to coax them out of her, and worse - he only wants to see them more, some stubborn and enduring need, everything will turn out fine if he can just keep that smile on her face.

“It’s not the same,” she says. “There would’ve been more city lights.” And he imagines he can almost see them, shining back at him from amber eyes, the ancient cities in her gaze two centuries away. She raises fingers pale with cold to the side of his face, and he wraps his hand around them, sparing the heat in his palm.

There’s a shift to her smile before she laughs, undeniably fond. “You’re gonna freeze to death keeping me warm.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” He grins, and wins more laughter, feels warmer for the sound of it. “Don’t worry about me.”

The amusement fades from her expression, softens into something hopeful and heartbroken all at once. He’s felt that something before himself, the moment they first met, she’d slept for centuries before she stumbled into him and set their breakneck collision course into motion, and he can see now his own headlong spiral fall into the force of her orbit, that inexorable gravity, lifting at the weight that’s ached so heavy on his shoulders.

When he leans in to kiss her, River hums the softest sigh beneath his lips, a pleased sound, relieved, like an old wound finally soothed, the echo of a bruise just healing over, and god he feels that, too. He feels her fingers cold against his skin, he feels her lips part and the blunt edge of her teeth and his own heart crashing in his chest, he feels fucking everything wholly and devastatingly, it’s the most annoying thing in the world that she can do that to him, and he wants her for the rest of his life, he’ll walk every step at her side, he’ll never let her go -

She grips him close with freezing hands as if to say the same, slowing softer kisses down the line of his jaw, like she can’t bear to pull away. “C'mon, baby,” she breathes, and smiles, the lids low over her eyes. “Let’s get inside so I can warm you back up." 

He helps her to her feet, eager to escape the cold. She leaves their fingers linked together. He likes the way her hand fits in his own.  
River leads him back out of the cold, that bright and vibrant star on her new way home.  
And he follows.


	3. Siempre

" _Espera_." Coy and firm - he knows the tone if not the meaning, her fingertips intent against his chest. "Patience, baby."

"Ha-ah-" Tension when he swallows, when he shifts his wrists in their restraints, the pale and threadbare ties she’s knotted tight against his skin, resisting struggles at their hold. "Easy for you to say."

Leisurely she smiles, traces painted nails along lean muscle, goosebumps rising in their wake. White hair sprawls loose across his skin; he aches to catch it in his hands, chase after that faint sweetness of vanilla hazing over every sense, just there and gone again like passing clouds. Above his head his fingers clench at nothing, wanting, knuckles white.

" _Quiero besarte_." Her voice curls soft around the words, between the kisses down his ribs, smoke and honey sweet in every syllable. " _Quiero besar todas las partes de tu cuerpo_." Her lips mark him in violet blossoms, claiming where his heart beats, down his stomach and his hips, the muscles straining in his thighs.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, too soon, too close to pleading.  _She wants, she wants_ , but he can't phrase apart the rest, her  _voice_ , the vowels bouncing on her tongue and rolling into trills that link the words like song, and in the end, the meaning doesn't matter. Everything he is and owns belongs between those slender hands, next to the beat of her heart.  

"Mmn." Heaven in her gaze, that grateful amber casting him in gold like a believer lost in worship - the way he looks at her, his River, sum of every answered prayer, her tongue a holy thing between her lips before she smiles and parts and  _sucks_  and every thought unravels into static bliss.

 _Fuck, fuck_ ,  _River_ , the only words that hold together, and he lacks the sense to voice them, just a whine he locks behind his teeth, and then he's arching, winding, every muscle strung bow-tight.

" _¿Te gusta eso?_ " Lips swollen when she smirks, purple lipstick smudged and fading to that perfect, perfect pink.

"Riv-" He finds the breath for half her name, a strangled moan in the back of his dry throat. " _Please_."

" _Dime, cariño._ " Her mouth against hard flesh, sucking hot and wet, so close to what he needs and not enough." _¿Qué quieres?_ "

"You," he chokes out, ardently, the only answer. "Always you."

He'd spend a century here wanting for the smile on her face. "Always," she says back warmly when she follows purple blossoms back up his body. "Always," against his lips, his hungry mouth devouring, "Always," breaking apart when she sinks down around him, when she moans and rolls her hips and grips him close with desperate hands, close enough to feel the heartbeat racing in his chest and still she wants him closer.

"Always you," the only answer.


	4. A kiss of relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. A kiss of relief
> 
> [x](https://vaultie-glass.tumblr.com/post/144953393044/lustanddai-sweet-affectionate-moments-meme)

River can handle raiders.

With MacCready at her side, she likes to think she can handle most anything: coursers one day, and mercenaries the next, and the eight floors of turrets and frag mines and raiders as they wind their way to the top of Haymarket Mall. She can even handle the deathclaw when it crawls up over the side of the building like the stuff of actual nightmares, glowing eerie green against the settling darkness. They fight through it all with little more than scrapes and burns and muscles that will ache tomorrow from the effort, and a fair amount of therapeutic complaining between them, a rhythm they’ve built together and mastered over time.

Then MacCready takes a careful step onto the wooden board that bridges roof and monorail, testing its strength beneath his weight. His hand is inches from a metal rung on the other side when the wood cracks to splinters beneath his feet, and River’s already reaching for him with a scream that never forms, barely grabbing hold of his arm in time and gasping through her teeth at the sudden yank of pain in her shoulders.

Through the dim evening light, all she can see is MacCready staring up at her with panic in his eyes, white knuckles clutching at her arm, his lips shaping her name in desperate fear as his rifle drops and skitters down the side of the building, disappearing into the darkness - her heart and home, her  _everything_  hanging helpless in her hands, and she  _can’t handle_  watching him fall. Tears springing hot at her lashes, blurring him in her vision, she can hardly force a breath past the terror freezing in her lungs as she plants her feet and tightens her grip around his wrist, feeling the muscles in her arms shake with strain, struggling against his weight until -  _somehow,_ and she thanks whatever god will listen - MacCready hooks a hand over the edge and finds purchase beneath his feet, and together they manage to haul him back onto the roof.

They stumble and sink onto solid ground, and River winds a tight hold around him, even as her arms and shoulders ache. MacCready ducks his head to hers, breathing hard, gripping at her almost firm enough to hurt, as it to reaffirm it’s really her between his hands, his fingers trembling down the line of her jaw, curling gentle around the back of her neck when he leans in to kiss her. Quickly, urgent, once then twice then longer, relief in every touch and broken breath between.

He drops his lips to her shaking fingers, cradles them in his hands, kisses soft and tender over her palms and swollen knuckles. “My hero,” he says dryly, trying for a smirk against her fingers.

And River shouldn’t, doesn’t want to, but she ends up laughing through her tears, between desperate kisses over his jaw and tired smile. “Fuck this place,” she decides, and he grins wider in response. “Fuck that monorail, and fuck Tinker Tom, and fuck his stupid project.”

He drops a sigh against her skin, almost laughter, airy with relief. “God, I love you,” always so  _open_ , like old oceans he will likely never know, and she thinks there’s not a thing she wouldn’t do to keep him smiling.

“I love you.” She smiles back and thumbs the heartbeat pulsing in his wrist, alive and vibrant. With him, she feels like oceans, too.  


End file.
